


Compliance

by thefilthiestpiglet



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: HYDRA Trash Party, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-14
Updated: 2017-07-14
Packaged: 2018-12-02 00:52:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11498358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefilthiestpiglet/pseuds/thefilthiestpiglet
Summary: Because I can't help but inject filth into perfectly innocentfics.The context: Bucky is conditioned to please his handler.  This includes this big blonde guy who he *knows* is Steve, but that doesn't stop the conditioning.  This mostly involves pretending to be perfectly recovered, but one night, Steve starts running his hand through Bucky's hair as they watch TV...





	Compliance

**Author's Note:**

> takes place between ch. 4 and 5. There's no kiss so innocent that I can't ruin! Mwahahaha

He freezes when he feels Steve’s hand on the back of his neck. It’s Steve, he should lean into the touch, because it would make Steve happy, because this body wants to be touched. It’s far from the worst thing he’s done in order to get the warmth of skin against skin. But he sees Sam stiffen out of the corner of his eye, and he knows he shouldn’t. 

But Bucky Barnes has wanted to kiss Steve Rogers since 1931. And he is Bucky Barnes, or at least what’s left of him. Surely it isn’t a crime, to want to be touched. He shakes his head “no” at Sam, and leans his head into Steve’s hand.

The Secretary is running his hands through the Asset’s hair, but his focus is on the television. The Asset can’t see what it is – one, because he’s been trained not to pay attention to contemporary media, and two, because he is nose-deep in the Secretary’s crotch. He takes shallow breaths around the cock in his mouth, and lets the noise from the television drone over him. He needs to be good. As long as he is good, the Secretary will keep touching his hair. If he is good, the Secretary might reward him with chocolate. If he is good, there will be no pain when they erase him. Right now, being good is simple: keep the cock in his mouth hard, and wait for the Secretary to give his next signal.

The TV goes off, and the hand on his head moves to tip his head up.

“Hey Buck, sleepy?” Steve’s eyes are warm in the darkness, but there’s another question behind it. His body complies while his mind is still snapping back to the present. It surges forward and up, and delivers a kiss.

Steve jerks back awkwardly, and it lands on his chin.

“Buck?” Steve looks perplexed, but behind that – barely-contained delight.

“Steve, it’s been so long, I’ve missed you.” He finds himself saying. "I’ve missed this.“ The body pushes forward for another kiss, full on the lips.

As Steve softens against his kiss and the body decides to probe into Steve’s mouth, the memory finally comes to him: in the forest, against a beech tree, while the others were off scouting or laying mines for the next attack. It was a quick kiss, stolen in a moment’s peace in the middle of a war. It was … nice. Maybe this would be nice, too.

Steve is talking to him as Bucky comes back from the forest and the beech tree. ”…missed this, too. I just thought… maybe you’d need some time…“ There is a note of unmasked lust in Steve’s voice that makes Bucky’s body rush to comply. His mouth deepens the kiss and his hands snake their way under Steve’s shirt and up his torso. Steve’s breath hitches, and Bucky chuckles against Steve’s lips. "Well, there’s something we can do about that.”

There’s hands running up and down his back. It’s one of the women, and she tells him what a fine specimen he is. "Come on,“ she says, pulling him close. "Make it good or I will have those useless bits cut off.” His body gets the message: muscles are already flexing in the right places. She glances at it appreciatively, then slips her hand down and cups one asscheek. Then she guides him toward a room with that hand alone.

“How about your room?” Bucky finds himself saying. Steve can’t see his garage, and the den is too full of Sam, too much of a reminder of the bits of his life that didn't involve Steve.

Moments later, he is astride Steve in a room that is covered with air force memorabilia, kissing Steve the way he kissed Maggie back in ‘35 – gentle, reverent nibbles along the neck and clavicle.

He remembers Maggie O'Leary roughly 3 minutes in, because that’s how he works now – mind always playing catch-up.

Memory is a funny thing. Technically, he remembers everything. Things before Zola poked him with a thousand needles were a bit fuzzier, since he only had an ordinary brain to work with back then, but everything since then, he is able to recall with perfect detail. The feel of every unmarked bullet, the click of every trigger, and the taste of every mouthguard stuffed in his mouth.

The problem is, his body has a memory of its own. It doesn't care what anything *means*, as long as it does what it takes to survive. Comply, obey, anticipate. His body has been on autopilot for so long, it’s forgotten to consult the rest of him. It’s different when it’s just him, or just him and Sam, when he can direct his body into new patterns: organize, construct, create. But when that shock of blonde hair comes into the room – well, the body knows how to please handlers. 

“… you sure?” Steve has a look of concern on his face, but his cock is saying something else.

“I want you in me, Steve, just like old times.” He waits on the bed and palms his own erection as Steve hunts for some slick. "Remember the time when you skipped mass to make time with me?“

"I didn’t skip mass,” Steve replied petulantly from the bathroom. "Just went to a later one.“ He emerges, waving a small bottle. Bucky flips over to his hands and knees to give Steve better access. "Besides,” Steve says from behind him, “I seem to remember a particular person refusing to let me out of bed until I came in his ass.”

Bucky chuckles as the memory finally catches up. Ah yes, winter of '39. "It wasn’t like I had to twist your arm. It was that or walk through the snow to hear Father O'Connor.“ Steve had put up a half-hearted protest, but they were both working two jobs and it was hard enough to find some time together that he gave in pretty quickly.

There’s an answering chuckle as a slicked finger slides into him. "It’s always so tight,” a voice says, dripping with disgust. "Oh come on,“ says a different voice above his head. "You’ll be glad of it later, when it’s fucked all loose.” He works to put extra saliva on the cock in his mouth, as the voice continues, “Here, use the baton first if you’re worried about getting your dick pinched off.” Something hard and sharp pokes at his hole, and he braces himself for the pain.

But the handler shoving into him is gentle and slow. His body knows how to express gratitude and eagerness in this situation. Anything to prolong the pleasure and keep the pain at bay. His mouth emits some small moans of arousal. "Ah, yes, right there, Stevie!“

Bucky’s eyes snap open. Wait.

This isn’t just him being along for the ride as his body resurrects the 20-year-old Bucky Barnes for dinner. Those memories were innocuous happenings from 70 years ago. This is very much not that.

He doesn't want these memories, but his body refuses to stop.

He reminds himself of the things that are true:  
His name is Bucky Barnes. He is in Sam’s house, safe from HYDRA. He owns two laptops, four types of cereal, 3 potted plants, two mixing bowls, and an entire toolset with 72 different drill bits. He is here because he wants to be. Tomorrow he will fix up the bannisters on the stairs. Tomorrow Sam will make jokes with him and eat the pancakes that he makes.

But right now, there is a hand on his cock, which means that his handler, no, Steve, wants him to come. His body complies, timing it perfectly to match the handler’s orgasm. The first one of the evening is always the easiest, the handler must be pleased. 

Not handler. _Steve_. The guy that Bucky Barnes had been making time with since 1939. "Ready to go again?” He finds himself saying. "That time in Paris we went three times in one night.“

Steve laughs and wraps an arm possessively around Bucky’s torso as he lays back. "Hmm…. we’ll see.”

Bucky closes his eyes as his body stills, soft and compliant the way that the Secretary likes. 

Obey. Comply. Survive.

In the morning, he can make pancakes for Sam.

**Author's Note:**

> This filth is mine alone. Please don't bother the original creators about this. Let's keep the filth in the dumpster, shall we? ;)
> 
> (Although, this should segue quite well into the [next chapter](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11264475/chapters/25186908) of their fic. If, yanno, you want to read fluffy Sam/Bucky.)


End file.
